Series VI - Gunmen of the Apocalypse - All scenes
("RED DWARF" THEME)
(MUSIC: SULTRY JAZZ)
Maybe it's the moonlight, but I've gotta
admit, you're looking pretty good for a corpse.
- Philip, I can explain everything.
- Let me save you the trouble.
It was you who planned Pallister's murder,
but your twin sister Maxine squibbed him off.
You decided to take the rap, knowing you had the perfect
alibi in me, that's why you came on so strong that night.
Played me for the dumb sap I am.
- Philip, it wasn't like that, not with you.
- Oh yeah?
So what are you going to do? Turn me in?
Watch me do the sit-down dance
in the electric chair at Sing-Sing.
No, sweet-lips. I'm gonna let you kiss me.
Sir, I think you should come and take a look at this.
Sir, it really is quite urgent.
I want you, Loretta, I want your body next to mine,
I want you like you were that Tuesday night. Kiss me!
Honestly!
Honestly, you haven't been off
this machine in a month. Oh!
Philip, I don't understand.
It's simple, Loretta. This isn't real.
It's an AR computer simulation game.
I'm supposed to hand you over to the cops
and wind up with the goody-goody heroine.
I've played it before.
It's just that you drive me wild.
- You're the sexiest computer sprite I've ever seen.
- Oh, Philip.
- I don't care that you've killed three men.
- Five.
Whatever. It's not your fault.
It's the way you're programmed.
So you take me for what I am? A psychopathic,
schizophrenic, serial-killing femme fatale?
Forgive and forget, that's what I say. Pucker up.
Choose your character.
Oh, honestly! I just want to talk to him.
Oh, anything... Sammy the Squib.
Crack shot with tommy-gun. Engage.
Oh, it's so frivolous!
Mr Lister, sir?
Hmm, curious.
Hi, Kryten. What are you doing here?
Sir, I've just got the
results of the chemical scan.
I've discovered minute amounts of
millennium oxide in the local vicinity.
Couldn't be more pleased for you, see you in an hour.
Sir, I believe we've wandered accidentally
into a rogue simulant hunting zone.
That would explain the devastation on the
derelicts where we picked up this very game.
Philip, who is it? Oh, it's Sammy the Squib!
- Good evening, miss.
- Don't kill me, Sammy. I'll do anything. Kill him.
I'll come away with you, Sammy. It'll be just like the old days,
I never stopped loving you, Sammy. Kiss me.
- You're trash, aren't you?
- I'm programmed to be trash.
I can't resist her, Kryten.
Get back in the car.
I never fall for women who were any good for me, Kryten.
Either heartbreakers or moral garbage on legs.
Sir, you have to turn off the AR console.
We have to close down and continue
on silent running in order to avoid detection.
- Ten minutes.
- Sir!
- Five minutes! I'll keep my hat on!
- Now!
Philip?
I'll be back, sweet-lips.
Stay bad.
Kryten, you are a total gooseberry!
Next time I play on the AR machine. I'm gonna give you some money and send you to the pictures.
At last, we have silent running.
OK, long-range scanners are down.
The only early warning we've got is you. Stay alert.
OK, bud. I'll keep my nose peeled.
You took your time. Where've you been?
- I was in the AR machine.
- Again?
- What do you mean, "again"?
- Everybody knows you only use the AR machine to have sex.
- That is not true!
- Yes, true.
It's pathetic watching you grind
away on your own... day after day.
You're like a dog
that's missing his master's leg.
That groinal attachment's
supposed to have a lifetime's guarantee.
- You've worn it out in nearly three weeks.
- That is an outrageous, scandalous piece of libel.
I don't just play
the role-play games.
What about the sporting simulations
like Zero-G Kickboxing and Wimbledon?
You only play Wimbledon because you're
having it off with that jailbait ballgirl.
That is another total lie! She's not jailbait, she's 17.
Lister, she's a computer sprite, and surely
that's the point. She's just a load of pixels.
Yeah, but what pixels.
- What's all the hullabaloo?
- We've wandered into rogue simulant country.
Biomechanical killers
created for a war that never took place.
Some of them escaped
the dismantling programme
and now they prowl around deep space searching
for a quarry worthy of their mettle.
I say we should abandon pursuit
of Red Dwarf and flee from the zone.
Give up the chase? You're kidding?
- Wait. My nose is getting something.
- Powering up.
- Scanners report a battle-class cruiser on intercept.
- It's rogue simulants, all right.
Recommend immediate total
and unequivocal surrender.
Sir, surrender is the worst thing we can do.
They despise humans and all forms of humanoid life.
They believe you to be the vermin of the universe, sir.
I didn't even know they'd met him.
Getting a message. Punching it up.
State your species and purpose.
One of us will have to speak to them.
Who's the least human-looking?
Listy, the mic's all yours.
Wait a minute. I've got an idea. Stall them with static.
Kryten, mid-section. Cat, you too.
Why do you delay? State your species
and purpose. You have one minute.
- Lister, what the hell are you doing?
- (LISTER) Wait a minute, nearly ready. OK standby to transmit.
- Incoming.
- (LISTER) I am Tarka Dall,
an ambassador
of the great Vindaloovian Empire.
Scanners reported human life
on your vessel. Is this so?
Humans?! (SPITS)
The Vindaloovian people despise all humans.
They are the vermin of the Universe.
Is that not right, Bhindi Bhaji?
(CAT) You bet. We hate them.
Scum, scum, scum, scum, scum! (SPITS)
The Vindaloovian Empire
has pledged to exterminate them all.
- We will not rest until our task is completed.
- Er, Lister.
- Hi.
- How's it going, bud?
A human and a humanoid,
a hologrammatical human
and a mechanoid who is a slave to humans.
I had hoped for so much more.
I've no idea who you are, but
boarding this vessel is an act of war.
Ergo, we surrender.
And as prisoners of war, I invoke the All
Nations Agreement, article #39436175880932/B.
39436175880932/B?
"All nations attending the conference
are only allocated one car parking space"?
Is that entirely relevant, sir?
I mean, here we are in mortal danger,
and you're worried about the Chinese
delegates bringing two cars?
Can't you let just one go? I was talking about the right
of POWs to non-violent constraint.
That's 75880932/C, sir.
It's embarrassing as much as anything else.
Here you are totally humiliating me in front
of this xenophobic, genocidal maniac. No offence.
Primitive. You will be no sport at all.
I have no alternative.
- How long have we been out?
- According to the NaviComp, three weeks!
Strange. The drive interface
has been upgraded. So have the engines.
If this readout's correct,
we're armed. Laser cannons.
They've totally upgraded the whole ship.
They've even got rid of the
squeak on the seat tilt control.
We have made some improvements to your craft.
Now, at least you may prove to be of some small amusement.
You have two Earth minutes before we attack.
- Let's get out of here.
- Wait, I know this game, it's called 'cat and mouse'.
There's only one way to win -
don't be the mouse.
- What you saying?
- I'm saying, the mouse never wins.
Not unless you believe those lying cartoons.
We don't run. We strike.
It's the last thing they'll be expecting.
No, the last thing they'll be expecting is for us to
turn into ice-skating mongooses and dance the Bolero.
And your plan makes about as much sense.
- I say go with it.
- Agreed.
You're gonna go with one of my plans?
Are you nuts? What happens if we all get killed?
I'll never hear the last of it!
What are they doing? Power up the weapons.
- Nailed him!
- Fluke hit.
- Take them with us.
- Can't return fire.
Hack into their navigation computer.
Transmit the Armageddon Virus.
- What is it?
- The Navicomp. Something's wrong!
See you in Silicon Hell.
Shutdown all network links, the
Navicomp's been infected with a virus.
The Navicomp's frozen us out.
We're locked on this course!
If we carry on at this speed. How long before we hit trouble?
Well, if you define trouble, there's a rather large moon directly in our path, about 38 minutes.
Sir, the only solution is for
me to contract the virus myself,
analyse its structure and attempt
to create a software antidote
before it wipes out
my core program.
Do I have your permission to sacrifice myself, sirs?
Do lemmings like cliffs? Granted.
- I'm going to have to create a dove program.
- Dove program?
A dove program spreads peace through the
system, obliterating the viral cells as it goes.
I have it.
The virus is extremely complex.
I will have to dedicate all my run time to it's solution.
Shutting down all non-essential systems.
Is there anything we can do, can we help?
Watch my dreams.
- Twenty-three minutes to impact. Any change?
- Getting worse. Weaker and weaker.
Look, sooner or later, we're going to have to face the fact that we're not all gonna get out of this in one piece.
- Well, if we are, it's going to be one big, flat piece.
- And?
It's time we decided who's going
to take the one-man escape pod.
- How?
- If you'll just bear with me,
I think I've devised a fair and equitable
system of choosing who should survive.
It's based on age, rank, seniority, usefulness...
To cut a long story short, it's me.
I was as stunned as you are,
which is why I demanded a recount.
But blow me. If it didn't come out as me again!
- Keys?
- Rimmer, the escape pod is not an option.
- Why not?
- It escaped last Thursday.
I was having a few beers and I couldn't be bothered
moving. So I used the release mechanism as a bottle opener.
- Whoosh!
- That's it, then. We're finished!
Wait. We're getting something.
(HONKY-TONK PIANO)
(CAT) What is this?
(LISTER) I think we've tapped directly into
whatever passes for Kryten's subconscious.
(CAT) Why is he a sheriff
in some old western?
(LISTER) Must be how his core program is
coping with the battle against the virus.
For whatever reason, it's converted
the struggle into some kind of dream.
Well, well, well, Sheriff.
Fancy seeing a man of your sober disposition
in a low-down drinking establishment.
Now, now, boys. I don't want any trouble.
Just doing my rounds.
(LAUGHTER)
You shouldn't ought to have done that, Jimmy.
Why don't you try it, Sheriff?
They say you used to be faster
than a toilet stop in rattlesnake country.
Sorry, I tripped over your boot there, Mr Jimmy, sir.
Didn't mean any harm by it.
Give me two fingers of your best sipping liquor, Miss Lola,
and make it the smooth stuff.
The stuff where you get your eyesight back
after two days. Guaranteed.
The Apocalypse Boys is here.
They's asking for you, Sheriff.
I'll be right out.
Ah, I don't believe
I've had the pleasure, sirs.
Name's Death. These here are my brothers.
Brother War...
Brother Famine...
and Brother Pestilence.
Well you seem like a nice, neighbourly
bunch of boys. How can I be of service?
We want your sorry ass out of here.
You got one hour.
He's losing the battle. Look at his
life signs, they're barely registering.
Isn't there some way we
can get in there and help him?
Somehow turn ourselves into tiny
electronic people and get into his dream?
Isn't there some sort of gizmo some place
lying around some place that can do that?
And if not... why not?!
Look, I think we've all got something
to bring to this discussion.
But I think from now on, the
thing you should bring is silence.
No, no, no.
I think he's got something.
Twice in one lifetime?
When you're hot, you're hot!
If we link up the artificial reality console
to Kryten's mind,
we should be able to project directly into his
dream state like it was a normal computer game.
- What did I tell you, we don't even have to leave the room!
- What about me?
We'll shut down all extraneous systems and power up your
hard light drive. Come on guys, let's get these wagons rolling.
There you go. I've loaded in the characters
from an AR western game. Choose a player from 1 to 3.
- Two.
- Here you go, you're the Riviera Kid.
Special skills, ace gunslinger.
- Rimsy?
- Uno.
One. Dangerous Dan McGrew.
Special skills, barefist fighting.
Which leaves me
with Brett Riverboat, knife man.
- And we definitely can't get hurt?
- No, it's just like a normal computer game, you can get out at any time.
There's a button on the inside of your glove. When you want to get out, just clap.
OK, Riviera? OK, Dangerous?
Let's mosey on into town.
(WESTERN-STYLE MUSIC)
I've seen westerns. I know how
to speak cowboy. Leave the talking to me.
Dry white wine and Perrier, please.
And what about you two chaps?
Rimmer, what westerns have you seen?
Butch Accountant and the Yuppie Kid?
Leave this to me. This sounds like one for...
(MEXICAN ACCENT) ..the Riviera Kid.
(FLAMENCO GUITAR)
- Ay, Senorita, tres tequila, por favor.
- What?
- He means 'three shots of gulping whisky, ma'am.'
- Si.
- (CROAKS) Mighty smooth.
- I was expecting something with a little more kick to it.
I don't suppose you've got any ginger ale mixers?
I'll take that as a no, then. I'll have it neat.
(RETCHES)
A man beans up in the hat
of Bear Strangler McGee,
he's either mighty brave
or mighty stupid. Which are you, boy?
Sorry, what were the choices again?
You'll have to forgive our friend,
he's a couple of gunman short of a posse.
That pays for the hat. Now, what about the insult?
OK. You're a fat, bearded git, with breath that could concuss a grizzly.
Take the lot, man... Rimmer,
what is wrong with you?
Relax. You said yourself, Lister, no one can hurt us.
Besides, you're forgetting...
(AMERICAN ACCENT) I'm Dangerous Dan
McGrew, barefist fighter extraordinaire.
Miss Lola, all my valuables are in this here box.
You can have it for one bottle of mind-rotter.
You're trading in
your shooting irons?
No use to me. I got the shakes so bad. I'm like
a couple of porcupines on their wedding night.
- Carrots?
- I'm throwing in my mule, Dignity.
Mr Sad Git or what?
Kryten, it's us, man.
Sorry, friend, I don't
believe I've had the pleasure.
Kryten, don't you know who we are, why you're here?
You're fighting an electronic virus.
You're trying to create a dove program,
some kind of software antidote to wipe it out.
- I'll drink to that.
- Listen to him, hooch-head.
The virus is winning. You've gotta get
your head together and start fighting it.
Want a drink, Sheriff? Why
don't you come and take one?
Now, now, Jimmy. There's no need
to be going making me look foolish.
Come on, Sheriff. Jump!
Well, you can get higher than that!
Leave him alone!
Just having a little fun, Mr Swankypants.
The name's Brett Riverboat, knife man.
Let's see how good you are.
Son of a...
Frank, Luke, line his lungs with lead.
- Who in the heck are you?
- They call me the Kid.
- The Riviera Kid.
- (FLAMENCO GUITAR)
Well, Riviera Kid, let's see if your
shooting's as fancy as your dancing.
He shot the damn bullets out of the air!
Well, it's been mighty dandy meeting you boys,
but if I'm not out of here by sun up,
the buzzards will be fighting the lizards
for my gizzards.
If he leaves town, we're dead. Stop him!
Vamonos, muchachos.
- Marvellous!
- Hey, buddy!
- Hold it!
- You gotta stay!
- This is a job for the Riviera Kid!
- (FLAMENCO GUITAR)
(CLUNK)
But boys, you've got to understand. I've got to leave. Look, it's ten to Death.
OK, we've got ten minutes to sober him up
and get him in shape. Come on.
- Sir, I just can't eat any more raw coffee.
- Two more bowls.
But I am sober. Honest!
- OK, who are you and why are you here?
- I'm some kind of robot who's fighting this virus.
And none of this exists, it's all in a fever. Except for you guys, who really do exist,
only you're not really here,
you're really on some spaceship in the future.
Hell, if that's gotta make sense,
I don't want to BE sober!
I got his guns back. And look at the handles, they've
got little doves carved on them. And check this...
- There's no place for the bullets to go.
- This is it, Kryten. The answer's in these guns somehow.
Doves. Dove program.
I don't know, I really don't know.
(CLOCK CHIMES)
Wait, something's coming back now. You, sir,
whenever I look at you I get an image of curry
and early morning breath
that could cut through bank vaults.
You, sir... there's something familiar
about you too. I get a name.
(STAMMERS) Smee... Smeeee... heeeeee.
- Smeghead?
- That's it!
He remembers me.
(LISTER) But the guns, Kryten. Do the guns mean anything to you?
Something. Yes, they mean something.
- Oh, if only I had more time.
- Psst! Company.
Got yourself a little help there, Sheriff?
Now I remember you. You're a computer virus,
travelling from machine to machine,
overwriting the core program.
Have infection, will travel.
Let's see if we can't tip the balance a little here.
What is he doing?
He's stalling.
He's spotted us for what we are -
a bunch of mean, macho, bad-ass desperados
who are gonna kick his bony butt clean across the Pecos.
(SPITS) Enjoy the show.
Who's got the guts to go with me one
on one, hand to hand, mano a mano?
- Cover him.
- (FLAMENCO GUITAR)
Damn, I lost my special skills.
(CLATTER)
Rimmer, the virus has spread to the AR unit.
We've lost our special skills!
Ah, Mr War, sir, it would appear that due to
circumstances completely beyond my control,
there's been a bit of a cock-up
in the bravado department.
I may indeed have come across as
being more brave than in fact I am.
Exit! Exit!
- We're sealed in!
- Get the helmets off!
It won't move! Oof...
The clasp at the back.
I got one of my gloves off!
- And a boot too.
- Oh, brilliant!
Now you're paralysed completely
down your left-hand side.
- Cat you've got your fingers up me nose!
- I think I got it.
You're pulling me nose off!
- Here it comes!
Me nose is coming off!
We're going to cut you up so small
the worms won't even have to chew.
You can't frighten me, I'm a coward.
I'm always scared. Lister!
- What now?
- It's down to Kryten.
Well, Sheriff. Now it's just little old you.
I'm not afraid, Mr Death, sir. I believe my friends
have bought me enough time to complete the antidote program.
Now, if you'll forgive the
rather confrontational imperative,
go for your guns, you scum-sucking molluscs.
I did it! I created an antidote.
Two minutes to impact. Come on!
- How long will it take?
- A few seconds.
- How long to impact?
- Just a few seconds.
- Loading it up. It's in the navicomp.
- Eight seconds... Seven...
- Nearly there.
- Five... Four...
- Three... Two...
- We're not going to make it!
- (CAT) One... Impact!
- (CRASH)
(ALL) Yeeeeeeeee-haaaaah!
(WESTERN-STYLE MUSIC)
